Love Ties
by amnesiac96
Summary: Written after Jo and Ellen's deaths in Abandon All Hope...but is Jo really dead? Dean can only hope so.
1. Loss

_**Chapter 1**_

The Colt felt cool against Dean's skin. It was a killing machine, no doubt about it: it was heavy, with a silky texture that was seductive, almost thrumming with life as Dean cradled it in his hand. He flipped it over and over in his hands, the inscription _"Non timebo mala" _on the barrel of the gun – meaning "_I will fear no evil_" flashing in the strip of bright moonlight shining through the slit in the motel curtains.

No doubt, it was a beautiful weapon. But Dean hated it.

This gun had brought misery to his life. Nothing but fucking _misery_.

This was the gun his father had searched for and finally found, to use against the demon that had killed his wife and the mother of his two sons. The gun had been used as a trade to keep Dean from Death's clutches – and killing John Winchester.

And now…now Jo was dead, for helping them reacquire it. Jo and Ellen, who sacrificed themselves, for nothing.

The gun could kill anything, _anything_. Well, that was a lie. It could kill anything but five objects in the whole world. The reason they had wanted the gun again in the first place was to kill Lucifer – and now they had it, Lucifer had revealed that he was one of the five things in the world that could not be killed by it.

Was God just set to bring as much misery to Dean as he could muster? It certainly felt that way.

"Dean?" Sam's voice brought Dean out of his thoughts. He shook his head, as if trying to physically push the thoughts out of his head. _Yeah, right_.

"What?" Dean's voice came out harsher than he intended, but he didn't feel like saying sorry.

The door opened, and Sam walked in, holding a paper bag. His big, dark eyes were full of concern, and Dean noticed they were still slightly puffy from all his crying. There was a small dark line on his bottom lip where he'd bitten it to attempt to quieten his sobs.

Little Sammy, with his big puppy-dog eyes. He just cried freely, not caring who saw; not caring that some may think crying was not "manly". He cried because he got attached to anyone who tried to make a difference in the world. Most of the time, they got hurt, or died, and Sam would cry some more.

But Dean would always be there for him. It hurt to see him like that, crying over someone that meant a lot to him. But Dean had never realized how you could get so attached to someone that wasn't even family, in such few days.

Now he understood.

Sam held up the paper bag, a nervous smile flickering on his face.

"I brought you some-some pie," he continued, stammering a little when Dean just stared at him. "I thought you'd be hungry."

Dean wasn't hungry, which was a first. But he appreciated the gesture. He should've known Sam would've done a kind thing.

"Thanks," Dean replied gruffly, standing and taking the bag from his brother. He pretended not to notice the concerned expression on Sam's face as his gaze followed Dean. He opened the bag and took out the steaming pie, the pastry flaking off onto the plain blue bedsheets. Dean just ignored them and bit into the pie, searing hot gravy burning his tongue. The pastry tasted like cardboard, but for the sake of making his dear Sammy happy, he chewed with difficulty, and swallowed.

The pie took an age to eat, but Dean finished it, and dumped the paper bag in the bin. He trudged to the bathroom, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

He took a long time brushing his teeth – much longer than necessary. Dean didn't look at himself once in the smeared mirror – couldn't bring himself to. He was too afraid of finding a miniscule flake of blood on his face, even after the half-hour shower that included such fierce scrubbing that his skin went a painful shade of pink. _Her _blood. Even though it had been washed off, he could still feel it sticking to his skin, dried and flaky. He could still smell it, still _taste _it, the thick, cloying smell of metal lingering unpleasantly in his throat, and no matter how much he swallowed, the taste refused to budge.

_"Dean…" Jo's voice cracked, weak and scratchy. It tore Dean in a million directions to hear her like this. Jo, the feisty blonde with the trademark silky blonde hair, reduced to a mutilated wreck, guts hanging out, tear-tracks staining her face. This was not how her life was supposed to end. No. _

_ "Dean, come here…" _

_ He flew to her side. She coughed, a fine spray of blood coating her hand – _

_**No!**_

Dean shook his head vigorously, as if trying to dissipate the memory, so fresh in his mind. Hell, it wouldn't matter if it was a day, a week, a month, or a decade after, it would _always_ be fresh in his mind.

"Dean? Are you done yet? I need to brush my teeth," Sam called softly, disrupting Dean's thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm finished, Sammy," Dean replied, wincing as his voice cracked. He walked out of the bathroom, stepping sideways to let Sam enter the bathroom. Sam hesitated for a moment, as if about to say something, but snapped his mouth shut and closed the bathroom door.

Dean stripped off his shirt, but couldn't be bothered to fully change into his sleep boxers and t-shirt, so he just flopped onto his bed, head tilted back against the rigid headboard. His belt buckle dug into his stomach, but he didn't care. It didn't matter if he was uncomfortable; he wouldn't be getting much sleep, anyway.

Sam was now in bed, stretched across the sheets. He turned the bedside lamp off, plunging the cheap, dingy motel room into darkness, save for the dull glow of the streetlamps outside filtering in through the thin curtains. From his restless fidgeting, Dean could tell he wasn't asleep, though.

"Dean? You still awake?" Sam finally blurts. Dean allows himself a small smile. He wondered how long it would take.

"Yeah."

"Thought so." Sammy sighed, covers rustling as he shifted. "It's been – it's been a long day."

"Yeah."

"I wonder where Cas is."

"Yeah."

"Dean…"

"What?"

A silence followed. Dean could almost hear Sam biting his lip nervously. "Dean, do you want to talk? About…about today?"

"No."

"Uh…well, okay. 'Night, Dean."

"'Night."

As Sam fell silent, Dean almost wanted to apologise to his brother, and at least _try _to talk about what had…happened, earlier today. But he just couldn't. He wasn't ready.

He didn't think he'd ever be ready.

The last time Dean looked at the clock before sleep eventually pulled him under, a vivid red three blinked innocently at him.


	2. Nightmares

It didn't take Dean long to realise where he was. The silence of the deserted town was deafening to his ears. His heart was thudding so hard, it threatened to burst right out of his chest.

_"…Your call," _he heard Meg say, the exact words she had said mere hours earlier. _"You can make this easy, or you can make this really, really hard."_

A shot, ringing out, and a yelp as Dean's bullet drove its way through the Hellhounds skull, blowing its brains out. Of course, he couldn't see this. But the pained howl it emitted gave it away.

They turned, and ran. Dean forgot, just for a second, what would happen next, and acted on instinct, shotgun popping shells as he pumped hellhounds full of rock salt. He was rewarded with howls of pain as the dogs exploded in a bout of blood, rippling the rain puddles around them.

_"Dean!"_

The voice was so familiar that Dean stopped, tripping over and falling onto his knees, smashing his elbow. The pain didn't register as he turned, seeing the small blonde woman, armed with a shotgun with an expression that said she knew how to use it, stepping in front of him and gunning down a hellhound slavering after him. The yelp was so close, he almost felt its stinking breath ruffle his hair. _Too close, Dean! Keep your head in the game!_

"Jo," he breathed.

"Yes, you idiot, get up!" Jo commanded, not registering the wondering tone in his voice, nor seeing the delight in his green eyes.

He shook his head, getting up and realising his attention had wandered off, leaving Sam unprotected. Dean mentally kicked himself as he scrambled up for letting that happen. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Then Dean remembered.

Once again, he skidded to a stop, whirling to see Jo sprinting, hair flying as she wheeled around, hearing the growl of a hellhound literally snapping at her heels.

_"Jo!" _He screamed, not unlike how she just yelled his name.

She met his eyes, and as Dean ran towards her, he actually thought, for one moment, that everything would be okay. That he would reach her, kick some hellhound ass, and they'd be safe. _All _of them would be safe.

But then the hellhound reached her, its claws ripping into Jo. Her agonized scream rippled through the air as blood sprayed across her belly and neck. It not only shattered the silence, but his heart along with it. Again.

The street narrowed, houses and shops looming menacingly over them as they all rushed to Jo's aid. Their darkened windows transformed into gaping mouths, leering at Jo, grinning jagged-glass-toothed grins as they mocked the scene before them.

"Jo, oh _God_, Jo," Ellen whispered. Dean knew without even glancing at her that she was struggling to hold back her tears, just as much as he knew she wouldn't cry, for as long as she could hold them back. Anyone with half a brain could take one look at Jo's claw marks and realise that she needed immediate medical help, and that was almost impossible to obtain in the middle of an abandoned street, with a bunch of hunters. His medical knowledge didn't stretch this far, and neither did Sam's; he doubted Ellen's would, too.

Jo looked at Dean, eyes misted with agony and fear, and her face contorted in pain, and was that _rage_? It made Dean's gut clench at the sight.

"Dean," she hissed vehemently. "_You_ did this. It's all your fault. It should be _you_ in this position right now, you selfish bastard. Why couldn't you get over here faster? You're just like your father, fucking up and getting _my _father killed. You Winchesters are all the same. Wherever you go, people die. I hate you, Dean. _Hate _you."

Jo lunged, mouth ripping open, and swallowed Dean whole.

Dean's eyes snapped open, as his mouth gaped, gasping for air. A sheen of sweat covered his face; his naked back was slick.

_Damn those fucking nightmares,_ he thought, rubbing a weary hand over his face as he lifted himself up off the bed and trudged off to the bathroom.

He had a feeling that nightmare would be making a repetitive appearance at nights. As if he didn't have sleep withdrawals already. Really, how was a guy meant to hunt demons if they haunted his very dreams?

The water he splashed across his face made him gasp. _Fuck_, the water was cold! He looked down to see…bits of rust and God knows what swirling down with the water into the plug hole, and he felt a little disgusted. Although, in a shithole like this, it was to be expected. They'd just driven into the first motel they found, fighting to keep exhaustion from taking over, and that was a bad thing to be doing while driving. Unfortunately, the first motel they found seemed to be a five-star accommodation for cockroaches. Dean wasn't too fond with the idea of sharing the room with the bugs.

A hollow feeling in Dean's gut intensified, leaving him feeling broken and lost. He looked up, and swore the room was shrinking, closing in on him. The feeling of claustrophobia made him queasy. He snapped. He knew he couldn't stay cooped up in this cheap motel. He needed air. He needed his baby, his gun, and a whole road stretched out in front of them.

Dean also needed Sam, but he couldn't take him, too. That would betray Dean's pride, letting Sam know what was going on inside his stomach, his head, his heart. His brother meant so much to him, but he couldn't help Dean right now. Sam needed Dean to be strong, and right now he really wasn't living up to that. No, Dean needed to do this alone.

Grabbing his keys and shrugging on a T-shirt and his leather jacket, Dean left the room, not bothering to leave a note. Sam would understand. Sam knew he'd come back. Sam knew he'd never leave his little brother.

He crossed the dark parking lot, picking out his Impala and sliding into the driver's sheet, pulling out and gunning the throttle.


	3. Disbelief

Bon Jovi blasted from Dean's tape deck. He sang at the top of his voice, allowing the deafening volume that he was sure could be heard three miles away to block everything else out. Music was great like that.

And it worked. For a while. Until he _actually_, honest to God forgot what had happened.

He looked over at the passenger seat, expecting to see a pretty blonde-haired woman, screaming alongside with him to _Living on a Prayer_, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes as he demonstrated his drum skills on the steering wheel. He stared in disbelief at the empty passenger seat, until he remembered what happened not long ago.

His foot slammed on the brakes; the Impala's tyres screeched as she fishtailed, skidding across the luckily-empty road. Everything outside his windows lit up in a mashed blur as the car spun, headlights lighting up the forest. The Chevrolet tilted precariously as the two left wheels left the dirt road. A brief flash of pain stabbed at his gut before Dean came to his senses and fought with the steering wheel, until finally all four wheels kissed the ground, slithering off-road and coming to a stop, just shy of smashing into a tree. The Impala ticked and gurgled in the otherwise night silence.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, thumping his head down on the steering wheel. He patted the dashboard, murmuring, "It's okay, baby. We survived. Again." How this car had survived every single one of his stupid stunts, he had no idea.

He was so stupid. So, so, _so_ stupid.

Rage surged through him. Wrenching the door open, he stormed over and punched a nearby tree. The pain felt good. It was a welcomed feeling compared to the numbness threatening to take over his body. Again, and again, and again, he repeatedly slammed his fist into the tree until pain licked up his arm, searing a fiery path across his brain. Leaves and twigs fluttered down from the tree, adorning his hair like a scraggly halo. The rough tree bark scratched viciously at his skin, scraping away at his knuckles until his blood was smeared across the trunk, a dark stain in the faint moonlight. He stared at it, like a moth transfixed with a porch light.

Dean stumbled back, his rear bumping into the hood of the Impala, and he collapsed against it, gasping for breath. His bleeding hand was ignored as he buried his face into his hands, trying to quash the thoughts buzzing around his head like angry hornets, stinging every surface they touched. He wished he couldn't feel. He wished he couldn't hurt. He wished he had no emotions. He wished he could just grab his brother, and drive off to some alley and kill a shitload of demons, then drink himself senseless and crash in a motel. And repeat, day after day. Just him and his brother. Like the old days.

Why couldn't it be the olden days? Where everything was black and white? There were no angels, good demons, no Apocalypse biting at their heels. What had they done to truly deserve this massive weight bearing down on their shoulders?

Why did everyone he love have to be taken away from him? As if he wasn't broken enough.

Dean had never felt so fragile, so _vulnerable_ in his entire life. The feeling shook him to the core.

"Hey, God, if you're up there?" Dean said aloud, lifting his face to the skies. "You know all that work I'm doing for you? Helping out your angels? Saving the world? And this is how you treat me? Well, you know what? All I give you is a big, fat, _fuck you_, because I am sick to fucking death of everything."

And Dean meant it. He knew this wasn't just a burst of rage, from today's events. No, this was built up, from his whole life – starting with his mother being taken away from him, all those years ago.

He didn't want an apple pie life. He didn't need it. All he needed was Sam, the Impala, Cas, Bobby, Jo and Ellen. That was his family.

His family was slowly being cut down. And that terrified him. _Nothing_ meant more to Dean than his family. Nothing.

Dean's extremely sharp mind absently noted the sudden silence of the forest stretching before him, the chattering of the critters cutting off. He didn't think anything of it, though; he had more pressing issues to mull over, than why a few animals had decided to shut up and do whatever. Why did he care if a predator or whatever had scared them off? He really didn't give a shit unless it decided he was the meal.

"Dean?"

Dean's blood ran cold, turning to ice water, freezing his veins. Disbelief washed over him, while hope kindled in his chest.

Was it really…? Did he just hear that?

Dean straightened, slowly, and turned, to see if the familiar voice was attached to a very familiar person.

"Dean?" the blonde repeated, standing about ten feet from Dean, and not taking another step towards him. It was almost like she was…cautious to approach. A wary hunter approaching a dying stag, afraid it will kick and injure in its last moments.

No, it couldn't be.

It just couldn't be.

Couldn't it?

"J-Jo?" Dean breathed. His voice was hoarse.

The blonde smiled warmly, revealing even teeth.

"Hey, Dean."

No fucking way.


	4. Affection

Dean felt the breath whoosh from his lungs, throat constricting. It wasn't really Jo. Of course it wasn't. This was just his mind playing cruel tricks on him, possibly from lack of sleep, or revenge for the little stunt he just performed. Or, maybe Meg had possessed her body, or something. Yeah, that was possible. Revenge for killing her hell-pups. Whatever the reason, the cute blonde standing in front of him wasn't real.

"Man, Dean," Jo said. "You look like you've been to Hell and back. Again."

"I – Shouldn't that be you?" Dean replied, forcing a weak smile to his lips, trying to inject some of his usual easygoing humour into the conversation. "I mean, what with you being killed a mere twenty four hours. By being a Hellhound's chew toy. Never heard of anyone coming out of that as fresh as a daisy, Jo."

Her lips curved into a smile. "There's a first for everything, right?" She gestured vaguely at her slim body. "It seems I'm the first. Lucky shot, eh?"

She was right. She'd changed into new clothes, sporting a tight-fitted leather jacket, dark skinny jeans and flat-heeled black boots. Her hair fell in freshly-washed curls, glossy and perfect, a striking blonde against the dark colours of her outfit. She was standing with such effortless ease that Dean could tell from just a glance that she wasn't injured. Her fluid movements confirmed that. His observations didn't do anything but puzzle him further.

It was funny, really, how beautiful and kick-ass she looked, but Dean doubted she even noticed. She'd probably chosen the dark colours for camouflage reasons, the tight-fitting clothes so there's nothing to grab hold of (except for her hair – but nothing evil's gonna get even close to grab it; he was sure she had some weapon sheathed in her boots). She merely dressed like that for practicality.

But damn, did she look stunning.

"What happened?" Dean choked out. He didn't understand what was going on. His mind, foggy with fatigue, was desperately trying to fit together all of the puzzle pieces, but failing miserably. There was no easy, logical explanation, at least from where Dean was standing. Was he missing the bigger picture?

"No idea, Dean," Jo said. Her smile slipped as looked down at her feet, toeing the grass with her boot. "One minute I'm led, bleeding to death in a store, next to Mom, and then the whole thing just…dissolved. Like, all these black dots just completely overrode my vision. And then there was this massive white light, and it was so bright, and…then I woke up, in our little motel room. Only, of course, no one was there." Jo smiled wryly, meeting Dean's gaze once again. "You guys really do check out fast, don't you? I was surprised."

"We didn't realise anyone was going to be returning there, seeing as we believed you and Ellen died. Which we had good cause to, seeing as, you know, you guys sacrificed yourself by blowing yourselves up so we could get away without freaking hellhounds tracking us." Dean paused. He took a deep breath, then asked, "Trust me, if we knew you were going to return? We'd have stayed a lot longer. So, where's Ellen?"

Dean knew the answer as soon as their eye contact broke. _No…._

"I…I don't know. Like I said, I have no idea what happened. I just woke up in the motel room. I don't know where…where Mom is."

Silence followed.

Dean hesitantly stepped toward Jo, gauging her reaction. She stood there, straight, watching the green-eyed man slowly advance, stopping mere inches away. They stood like this for a few moments, not speaking.

"I missed you," Dean whispered finally.

"I wasn't gone for long," Jo chuckled, peering up into his eyes. "How could you have missed me already?"

"When you don't think someone's…coming back, you start to miss them quickly." _Especially since you got mauled saving me from a hellhound_, thought Dean, but he didn't voice this comment. There was no need to ruin the mood.

Dean couldn't believe this was happening. Two hours ago, he had woken up in a cold sweat, trembling as he realised the deaths of two of his dearest friends were on him. Two members of his very selective group of trusted people.

And now? Now, he was talking to one of them, who looked like she was ready to kick some demon ass. It just didn't make sense.

"I…Is this real?" Dean's voice pitched lower. "Are you real? Am I hallucinating?"

Jo smiled faintly. The slight movement of her mouth drew Dean's attention to her lips. His mind, finally realising there was a seriously cute chick in front of him, contemplated whether her lips were as soft as they looked. He bet they would be, though God forbid the guy who decided he wanted to find out, without making sure Jo was okay with it. He'd be picking rock salt out of his ass for weeks. Dean knew that one of the strongest hunters was stood in front of him, regardless of her gender; she could be as ferocious as a cougar when she wanted to be. She was largely underestimated because she was female, although Jo could often use this as an advantage.

The thought flitted through Dean's mind, quickly followed by the realisation of how close they were standing, and Jo wasn't pushing him back. Of course, she could be fooling around again, like on their last night, but for some reason Dean doubted this. She seemed…more radiant tonight. Almost glowing. What was that look in her eyes? Dean couldn't quite decipher it, but it made his stomach flutter with anticipation. The feeling was peculiar to him.

Jo smiled gently. "You want proof I'm not a hallucination?" she whispered silkily. "I'll give you proof."

She lifted on her tiptoes, meeting her lips with his.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN) Sorry that all of these chapters have so _small_. They will start getting a little bigger, it's just I've been so busy, and I've been so excited to start my first story, so bear with me, please! Thank you to those who have added me to story/author alert, and to Silverspoon who has given me two really informative and constructive reviews. **

**I'll update soon!**


	5. Lust

Dean stood there for a moment, eyes widening in surprise as their lips met. After a few seconds with no response, Jo slowly pulled back, looking down.

"I – I'm sorry, I thought, you know," she rambled nervously, refusing to meet his gaze. "I just assumed that you wanted to, you know – but I've obviously got it wrong, I'm sorry, I –"

Dean's fingers grasped her chin and tilted it up, crushing their mouths together. Jo let out a muffled noise of surprise, but responded by opening her mouth against his.

Jo's lips were softer than he'd thought, and warm, too; the heat of them chased away the chill in his chest. They moved against his skilfully, her tongue flicking out and dancing with his. He playfully bit her lower lip, and she gasped into his mouth, sending delicious shivers down Dean's spine. Jo's hands slid up his shoulders and into his hair, twisting her hands into the thick ruff. Her fingers toyed with the delicate hairs at the nape of his neck, and Dean shuddered.

"I missed you, Jo," Dean whispered against her lips. His hands cupped her face, warmth emanating from them. "I missed you so much." His voice cracked at the end.

"Shh," Jo murmured. "I'm here now. I'm staying."

"You swear?" Dean felt so childish saying it, but he had to hear it.

"I swear." He saw her grin slowly. "You're stuck with me, you poor sod."

"I'm sure I can manage."

"Let's hope so."

Dean chuckled, then pulled him against her once again, for having her mouth so close without actual contact was bloody unbearable. Jo didn't melt against him, like most females who turned into a helpless pile of hormones whenever he tossed his "smirk" their way; no, she held her ground, battling for dominance. Dean wasn't surprised; he found it seriously attractive. It was rare – no, it was _very_ rare – that he came across a woman who didn't just let him do all the work. Of course, every woman that _had _managed to achieve that couldn't hold a candle to Jo. Jo was just…radiant. Beautiful. Funny. Fierce. Protective. Loyal. Just…phenomenal. Dean hadn't heard of a word that perfectly described her. He doubted it even existed.

"Hey," Jo said, bringing him back to the present. "No thinking, okay? This is strictly a no-thinking zone."

Dean laughed. "Sorry, Jo. I was just getting a little bored." A total lie, but he loved to tease her.

"Bored, huh?" Jo grinned. "I'm sure I can change that."

Jo practically pounced on him, grabbing the front of his jacket and pulling him towards her, crushing their lips together in a bruising-hard kiss while pushing him backwards. Their legs tangled and they half-fell on the hood of the Impala. Dean checked himself to cushion Jo, and she smiled.

"Such a gentleman, as always," Jo rolled his eyes.

"Oh? Is that not what you want?"

"No."

Dean laughed. "Really, now? And what _do _you want?"

"For you to stop treating me like a piece of damn china. I'm stronger than that."

"And how strong are you?"

"Well, I can kick your ass in three seconds flat. I seem to recall breaking your nose the first time we met." Jo grinned seductively. "Enough proof?"

"Why are we still talking?" Dean harrumphed, looking exasperated.

"Because I'm trying to see if you can control your hormones," she laughed. "You're holding out longer than I thought."

"Well, that control will hold longer than yours will, kitten."

"Ah, is that a chall – wait, _what_?"

"What?"

"What did you just call me?"

"I didn't call you anything," smirked Dean. "I think you're imagining things, Jo. Might need to see someone about that."

Jo stepped back into his personal space, her boots flush with his. She watched him visibly swallow, and found it endearing. She also saw it as something to use to her advantage.

"Nervous, Deano?" Jo said, voice husky.

"Of – of course not," Dean spluttered, trying to fight the faint blush colouring his stubble-covered cheeks.

"Are you sure?" Jo placed her hands on his chest, fingers spread. She could feel his steady heartbeat quicken noticeably beneath her fingertips. Her grin widened a little.

"Yep, totally…sure," Dean bit his lip to stop a moan as she pressed up against him, his rear on the hood of the Impala. He was totally trapped, but he kinda liked this trap.

"_Really_?"

Jo's hands slid underneath his t-shirt. Dean jerked at the feeling of cool hands on his warm stomach as they slid upward.

"Yes, really."

Jo looked up at him, her eyes screaming challenge, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and his rein of control snapped as lust took over.

Dean grabbed her hips and pulled her towards him, crashing his mouth into hers. Jo let out an oath in surprise, eyes widening. Dean smiled at that.

He unzipped her jacket, and she shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor as she did the same to his. His fingers tugged at her shirt hungrily, fingers whispering across her bare skin, with such precision that Jo shivered.

Dean's fingers grazed her side, tickling her, and she squealed, giggling and skittering away from his grabbing hands. He lunged for her, but she danced out of reach; his hands brushed the edge of her jeans, but no more. He grumbled in frustration, and set out after her as she darted around the hood of the Impala.

He reached the driver's door a nanosecond after she slammed down the locks from inside the car.

_"Jo!" _Dean growled as the blonde smirked at him. "Open the damn door!"

"No." She grinned.

"Jo, come on! Get _out _of my car."

"No."

"Oh, _God_ you're so fucking annoying!"

Dean prowled around the car, checking to see if she had, indeed, locked every door. She had.

_I'm going to kill her_, he thought to himself as he watched Jo smirk at him. _But not while she's locked in the Impala_. He wasn't going to destroy his baby to get to her.

Dean stared into the car. What the _hell _was Jo doing? He squinted, peering into the car, where Jo was slowly pulling off her tank top, a playful smirk tugging her lips upward. _Oh, man. Strip tease? Not fair._

"Jo, please?" Dean whined, thumping on the window. "Let me in! or get out, I'm really not that fussed."

Jo didn't reply, just shed her black tank, dropping it onto the seat. Dean swallowed hard as he stared at her, eyes fixated on the crimson lace bra Jo currently adorned.

Jesus fucking Christ. If she took _that _off, the Impala's health would go out the window. Literally.

Still smiling, she unzipped her skinny jeans. Slowly, provocatively, trying to get Dean riled up. _It's working_, he thought. Any woman undressing herself in the Impala aroused Dean. When the woman was Jo, Dean got an ache in his navel.

Dean stepped on something that slipped underneath his boot, making him stumble. He righted himself, picking up the object. The silver key glinted up at him, winking in the moonlight.

His Impala keys.

Dean grinned. He must've taken them out of the ignition when he'd gotten out, only they'd fallen to the floor as he'd exited the car.

These keys unlocked the doors.

He straightened, and looked at Jo. She hadn't realised what had happened.

Her zipper had gotten caught on a small rip in the leather seat, and she was fighting to release it. She was concentrating so hard she didn't realise Dean had quickly unlocked the right back door, slipping inside.

"Here, let me help you with that," Dean told her. Jo jumped, and the zipper ripped free of the leather with the abrupt movement.

"How – "

Dean held up the keys with a triumphant smile. "You didn't think I'd leave them in the ignition, did you?"

Jo seemed to realise she was clad in only a bra, with her jeans halfway down her thighs. "Can we even up the stripping a little?" she asked. Dean answered her by pulling his top over his head and throwing it onto the passenger seat. Jo pulled him down onto her, kissing him. She fought with his zipper as he slid his hands down her thighs, stripping her of her jeans. She shivered at the sudden clothing loss; Dean huddled closer to shield her with his body warmth.

She finally shed him of his jeans. She wasn't cold anymore; in fact, she was burning hot. Dean glanced above her and noticed the steamed-up windows. Jo looked up, too, and laughed. It was like music to his ears.

Soon, they were naked, sweat slicking their backs. As Dean's hips met hers, Jo groaned, "I love you, Dean. I love you so much", before she cried out, nails scraping his back.

**(A/N) Sorry I had to end so abruptly. I'm not very good at writing sex scenes, so I decided not to embarrass myself by attempting to and failing. **

**Sorry for the slow updates. Things aren't so great at home, so I've been pretty busy. That, and school's started, and teachers have decided I haven't been given enough homework...**

**I'll update as soon as possible, although I can't tell you when. **


	6. Hope

The first thing Dean saw was a hazy pool of blonde hair right under his nose. The fragrant smell of grape shampoo tickled his nose.

Dean stayed where he was as his mind flipped through the sex-hazed events of last night. _Man, is this really happening?_

Now that his mind was fighting free of the sleepy fog enveloping his brain, he could think better. Jo was back. Jo was alive.

Ellen wasn't back. Ellen was still dead.

Dean pushed his sadness away. There would be a time to think of her later. Right now, he wanted to focus on the living. He wanted to focus on the beautiful, and also naked Jo Harvelle led right next to him, the blanket he kept underneath the passenger seat draped over them. She shifted slightly, burrowing her head into his chest, seeking warmth. He smiled down at her, fingers absentmindedly playing with a silky lock of hair.

Damn it, she was beautiful.

His fingers slipped down her body, tracing the curve of her hip. He just couldn't get enough of studying her body. The way she curved in and out in all the right places; the way her toned limbs tangled with is own. Her body wasn't perfect: like his, her skin had sporadically placed scars, due to the tough life of a hunter. If anything, it made Jo more real, more endearing. He didn't want perfect. He wanted a strong, independent woman who could take care of herself. Jo fitted the description exactly.

The steady thump of Jo's heart, not quite in sync with his, was reassuring. Along with the sound of their breathing, they were the only sounds to be heard – the road was completely silent.

That was the thing Dean loved most. He loved hearing heartbeats. A heartbeat meant that you were alive, that you were still in this world; you were still kicking ass. A heartbeat was the most reassuring sound in the world, aside from Sam's voice.

"Dean?" Jo murmured sleepily. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Dean jerked, startled. He hadn't realised Jo's eyes had opened, staring up at him. She chuckled quietly at his reaction, the sound reverberating through Dean.

"Sorry, kitten," Dean replied lazily, regaining composure as his fingers whispered across her collarbone. Jo shivered lightly, all too aware of his fingertips.

"Kitten?" Jo echoed, arching an eyebrow. Dean cursed himself for letting the little nickname slip. "That's what you called me last night, wasn't it? I _knew_ I'd heard something."

"It's just a little nickname. I could call you pussy-cat instead, if you like."

She playfully socked him on the shoulder. "What's wrong with Jo?"

"Kitten sounds cute."

"What if I don't like kittens?"

"Personally, I prefer puppies, but strangely, calling you puppy doesn't have the same ring to it."

"What if I don't like being called kitten?"

"Tough, you're being called kitten."

"You're stubborn, you know that?"

"Damn straight." Dean winked. Jo sighed, thumping her head down on his arm. She'd been using it as a pillow; Dean was starting to get pins and needles.

"You're such a _moron_."

Dean shifted, sliding his arm out from underneath Jo's head. "You weren't calling me that last night, sweetheart," he replied, grinning widely. Jo rolled her eyes, sitting up and grabbing her clothes. She flung Dean's underwear at him. He caught them deftly, seconds before they hit his face.

"Get dressed, dork."

Dean obeyed, and, for the first time in a while, he actually felt that life could get better. Maybe there really was hope in the world.


	7. Broken

After a long drive back to town – Dean had driven so far out into the middle of nowhere it took them almost two hours to finally see an actual town – they ended up in some diner that was apparently owned by Candy, according to the neon pink sign blaring the name at them as they pulled up into the almost deserted parking lot.

"Damn, I've missed this," sighed Dean, sliding into a small booth at the back of the diner.

"What do you miss?" Jo asked, sliding in after him and grabbing a menu.

"All of this," replied Dean, waving his hand around to emphasise.

"What…the diner?"

"Well not just _this _diner….just the whole, being able to drive around and find a diner, and eat, without a care in the world." Dean shook his head. "Man, I've missed that."

"Okay. Well, enjoy it, then."

Dean smiled at her as he picked up his own menu. He knew Jo didn't fully understand what he meant. He doubted even Sam did. No one could possibly understand how much Dean truly missed the typical cracked leather of the seats, the stale coffee smell, the greasy burgers and pies every great diner served. What with the apocalypse upon them, they never seemed to find the time to laze around, not having to worry about a job, or an angel, or a demon. Just to sit back, relax, and eat a pie, or two – or even three, if you were Dean Winchester.

The only thing missing was –

Was Sam.

Dean's gut clenched, guiltily. Sam hadn't even crossed his mind for the whole of the time he was with Jo. What kind of selfish big brother was he? Sam was his first priority.

"Jo – "

"I know, I know," Jo smiled sadly.

"What?"

"You need to get back to Sam," she said, as if reading his mind.

"H- how did you know that?"

"Your eyes," she replied. "They get greener when you think of him, and your pupils dilate slightly. That only happens when you think of the person you love the most, and, well – that's obviously Sam."

Dean shook his head, grinning slightly. "Jesus, Jo. That's unbelievable."

"I know." She smiled back and tossed her blonde hair over one shoulder. "But…do you have to go back to him now? Can't you spend some more time with me? I'll understand if you don't want to, but…"

"I…."

"Surely he can look after himself for a little more time? I know that family matters more than anything – God, I understand completely – but please, can you just stay with me for a while? Just to forget about all the world's problems, the guilt, the apocalypse? Surely you've missed being the old Dean Winchester?"

Jo was saying all the right lines. Dean _did_ miss that. where he had no little frown wrinkles just appearing on his forehead. Where he could look in the mirror and see a babe magnet jauntily grin back at him – not a broken man with haunted eyes. Where the only things that mattered were saving people from bad things, his Impala, and his family.

Words couldn't express how much he missed that.

Jo's smile turned knowing and sad at the same time. "See what I mean? You need a break from all that, Dean. Just to visit a quiet place, for a day."

"The apocalypse won't wait, Jo. It's coming."

"Well, the apocalypse can wait for a day. I don't care. You can't face it if you're broken."

Dean smiled ruefully. "I'm already broken."

"You're not," Jo argued. Dean was startled at the fierce note in her voice. "You're not broken."

"I'm a lost cause, Jo. Leave it."

"What happened to the 'Everybody has a choice' attitude? Where's the old Dean? The one that always bounced back from everything? The strong Dean?"

"He disappeared when I died and went to _Hell_, Jo." Dean felt the first few sparks of anger ignite inside of him.

"That should be a reason to be stronger, Dean. You're back for a reason. You're back with your brother, with Bobby."

"I'm dragging them down with me."

"If you carry on speaking like this, I'm going to deck you," Jo hissed, leaning closer towards him to make sure no one would overhear their conversation. "Do you understand?"

"If you don't want to listen, then fuck off," Dean growled in reply. "I'm not in the mood to be lectured."

"I'm not lecturing, you dick. I'm trying to make you realise that you're better than this. I have five people I look up to: Mom, Dad, Bobby, Sam, and you. You're all so strong and brave and incredible, that all I want is to be like you guys. You're my heroes, and I'm not ashamed nor embarrassed to say that."

"Heroes die, Jo. Inspirational influences usually turn out to be complete jerks."

_"Enough with the pessimistic attitude!_" Jo slammed her hand on the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw the waitress walking over to them jump, and warily back away.

Jo saw, too. "Sorry for startling you!" she called to the waitress. "We're ready to order."

The waitress sidled over, keeping a respectable distance from them.

"Can I take your order please?" she asked in a southern twang.

"Two coffees, waffles for me and the pie of the day for him," Jo replied, sending the waitress a slightly shy smile. In spit of everything, Dean couldn't help but smile when he saw the waitress relax a little. Jo playing the little cute blonde always reassured everyone. It was as if they couldn't imagine her wielding a gun and shooting a demon in the face.

"Coming right up, ma'am," the waitress replied, beaming at them with lips painted a migraine-bright magenta, and sashayed off, winking at Dean. He winked back, a bad-boy grin settling on his lips. she giggled and hid behind her hair.

"See?" Jo sat back, arms folded, a triumphant grin on her face. "You flirted again. Like you used to. Did that feel good?"

It had. "No," Dean said.

"Liar."

"Okay, okay, point taken! But it's not going to help anything. I'm damaged, Jo. Don't even try to deny it."

Jo looked at him for a long moment.

"Well then," she finally said as their coffee appeared in front of them. "I'm going to fix you."

* * *

><p><strong>(AN) Again, so sorry for the slow updates. Things are still a little shaky at home, and homework is still piling up - who knew Psychology would have so much? This might mean it'll delay updates for the future, so this is an apology in advance.**

**I really hope this fic will be to your standards. I'd appreciate reviews, and if there's anything you think I can improve on, don't hesitate to say - just make sure it's a valid reason. **

**Thank you so much to those who have favourited, reviewed or subscribed to story alert! I love all of you :)**

_**Song Suggestion for Dean and Jo(I should've started doing this a long time ago...)**_

_**Just Tonight - The Pretty Reckless**_

_**Fix You - Coldplay**_


	8. Content

And so Dean and Jo spent the whole day together.

Dean was too scared to talk to Sam on the phone, so he left a voicemail, explaining that he needed a day alone.

Maybe "scared" wasn't the right word. Dean just knew that if he heard Sam's voice, all his problems would crash back down upon him, and he would back out of this rehab thing he had going on with Jo, and Dean didn't want that – he knew he couldn't avoid it; he just wanted to delay it for a little while.

Jo touched his elbow when she saw Dean standing there, staring down at his phone. He looked up and met her gaze.

"You don't have to do this, Dean," Jo said. "I'm not forcing you. If you want to go back to Sam, it's fine."

"No, no, I want this day." Dean snorted. "Scratch that. I _need_ it."

Jo smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Then let's go."

* * *

><p>They ended up lying on the grass in a lake district, feeling warm and giggling due to the alcohol they'd drunk. Jo was nestled in the crook of Dean's arm, his leather jacket draped around her to protect her from the night air's chill. She drew it close, breathing in the familiar scent of Dean's aftershave.<p>

Dean appreciated the fact that Jo hadn't questioned why they didn't just lie near the Impala, or even just sit on the hood and watch the stars. She knew that was what he did with Sam, and with Sam only.

But damn, was it a cold night. Jo shivered again and huddled closer to Dean for warmth.

"You cold?" Dean murmured. His free arm was behind his head, and he was staring up into the stars.

"A little," Jo admitted. "But I'll survive. It's nice out here."

"You know," Dean said, a mischievous grin spreading across his mouth. "If we take our clothes off and cuddle, we can conserve more body heat and keep each other warmer."

He yelped when Jo hit him in the stomach.

"Hey!" He complained half-heartedly. "Survival 101. just saying."

"Just try it and you'll find out how fast I can break those fingers."

"Ooh, touchy."

"Ass."

Dean chuckled, low in his throat, then sighed. He was content – more than he had been in a _long_ time. All he'd done today was eat, mess around in some rock music shop, cranking the headphones high with Jo and jamming to AC/DC, and drive around, laughing and trying to spot the weirdest landmarks they could find. Childish and silly, he knew, but he needed some immature time in his life right now.

In the back of his mind, there was a little voice telling him that very, very soon, he'd have to pop this little bubble of tranquillity that he had built around himself and Jo, and return back to the real world. But, right now, he just ignored that nasty little voice, and focused on the present. He was tired of worrying about the future.

Dean suddenly remembered something his high school teacher had told them about. She had been an old hag of a teacher, and seemed to have it in for Dean (or maybe because of his lack of homework handed in on time), but even Dean had to grudgingly admit she was a good teacher.

He remembered when she had told them about how some scientists said that every time someone made a choice, the world split up, and in each new alternate universe there was a different future, because that person had made a different choice in each.

"Earth to Dean," Jo whispered softly. Dean jumped, startled.

"H-what?"

"You zoned out." Jo smiled gently, fingers tracing light patterns over his chest. "What were you thinking about?"

"I…I was thinking about that theory some people have, that there are billions of alternate universes, and in each you make a different choice, so your life turns out differently in each," Dean explained.

"I don't get it," said Jo, looking confused. "What do you mean?"

"Like, say, this morning, when I had the decision of whether or not to eat pie. In one universe, I _would_ have eaten the pie – this one – and in another universe, I _wouldn't_ have."

"Okay…."

"So, maybe that tiny, tiny little choice that I made, a choice that seems so insignificant, but could actually change your whole future."

"I think I get it now." Jo sat up and looked down at him.

"I know I'm not explaining it well, but it's hard to put into words," Dean apologised. "But just imagine – there might be an alternate universe, somewhere out there, where Heaven and Hell _aren't _staging a war. And there might be another where Mom and Dad are alive, and happy. And another universe where Sam's a lawyer, and Dad's a mechanic, and….and I'm doing something with my life. In another universe, I might have an apple pie life, with a little house and a family and a white picket fence."

Jo shook her head. "Damn, it's weird to imagine that."

"I know. I don't know…it just popped into my head."

"It's okay. I'm always interested in what you say. Well," she added. "Unless you're being a total dick, or insulting my music taste."

Dean smiled. "It is pretty crap, though."

"See? Being a dick."

Dean turned serious again. "Jo….I just can't wrap my head around how you're here. I mean, I watched that hellhound rip into you. I watched that shop blow up, with you and Ellen inside it. I helped _build_ the bomb, for Christ's sake. How are you here?"

"Dean, you have no idea how much I've asked myself that question." Jo ran a hand through her hair anxiously. "I mean, you've seen me without any clothes on."

"I remember," Dean couldn't help saying with a wry smile.

"Shut up," Jo said as she bit back her own grin. "But, yeah, you _have_ seen me with no clothes on, obviously, and you didn't notice any gory scars from the hellhound ripping into me, did you? I mean, is it actually possible to miss them?"

"Well, if the sex is good enough, maybe," Dean joked, but grew serious once more. "No, I didn't see any. But, then, I don't have any more either, and I was chewed up pretty bad. Maybe you were brought back somehow?"

"Maybe… But, I don't have any memory of anything. I just remember waking up in my motel room. You remember your time in Hell, don't you?"

"It's pretty hazy." A lie, but Dean couldn't describe his experiences in Hell to Jo without breaking down, and that was something he didn't want happening. All his focus had to be on Jo, not him. "But yeah, I didn't just wake up anywhere."

"Where did you wake up?"

Dean frowned. Didn't she know? Realisation dawned, and he realised that only Sam, Bobby and Cas knew the full details of what had happened.

Jo waited for Dean to respond. When she saw his eyes turn dark, she murmured quietly, "You don't have to tell me. It's okay."

Dean physically shook himself. "No, no, it's okay. Well, obviously, the hellhound killed me when my time – when my time was up, and….I died and went to Hell. So….Sam and Bobby buried me, and obviously they didn't expect me to be coming back. so when I woke up…."

"You had to break out of your own grave," Jo finished, dawning horror evident on her face. "Good God, that must have been terrible."

"Well, it wasn't exactly what I'd like to do again," Dean agreed. His smile was a mere ghost of his normal confident smirk.

Jo put her hand over Dean's, gently stroking his knuckles with her thumb. Dean just lay there, refusing to look at Jo, fearing she'd see that he really wasn't as strong and as brave as she originally thought, and that he wouldn't appeal to her any more.

"Dean…I'm not going to say I'm sorry for what you've been through, because honestly? That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard anyone say, but unfortunately it's become a habit for humans. I just want you to know I'm here for you, okay? Your family have been hit – blasted to pieces, if I'm blunt. But you still _have_ a family. Remember Bobby's saying? Family don't end in blood. It's true, Dean. It doesn't."

Dean didn't reply. He didn't really know what to say, so he kept quiet.

Jo chuckled humourlessly. "Hell, if family _is_ just blood, then I'm the only Harvelle left. Mom's dead, Dad's dead….every Harvelle dead, except for me. That's fucking scary."

"Bobby _is_ right. Family doesn't end in blood," Dean finally said without looking at her. he focused on one particularly bright star as he spoke. "You have family."

"Do I? Do I really?" Jo spoke in a whisper, and Dean detected a faint note of desperate hope in her voice, and his heart clenched.

Throughout everything, Dean had never been alone. No matter what, Sam had always been at his side. Even now, he had Sam. But Jo? Jo had lost everything. Her home, her parents…..Dean had lost that too, but at least he'd had someone with him, who went through what he went through, and had someone to rely on. Jo didn't have that. jo didn't have a brother. She didn't have a sibling who she could protect, or be protected by.

Dean hadn't even imagined, _still_ couldn't imagine what was going through Jo's mind now.

In answer to her question, Dean gently pulled her down next to him on the grass, and she gratefully curled into his side, hugging his jacket to her as they lay in silence, just content to be in the present of each other's company.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN) It's half term, which means I might actually be able to update more! Although the tons of homework I've been given to keep me "busy" through the week might keep dragging me down, but I'll try to keep on track.**

**Mali Bear's Buddy has been really kind and reviewed my chapters, for which I'm very grateful for, so thank you :) **

**I hope you enjoy it!**


	9. Worry

Dean woke, to his surprise, alone.

Fear flashed through him, and he instantly became alert. He groped at his chest before realising he didn't have his jacket on – meaning he didn't have his gun on him.

_Gave it to Jo last night,_ he thought, and cursed. Well, that wasn't his only weapon on him. He checked his boot to see if his knife was still in there, and sighed in relief when he saw it was. good. If he'd learnt anything over the past year, it was that you should never be unarmed. _Ever_.

He clambered to his feet, brushing dirt off his jeans. There was no sign of Jo.

_Where the hell could she be?_ Dean thought as he scanned his surroundings. Dawn was just breaking, the first few rays of sunlight slipping through the trees. There was no sign of Jo.

Dean took one last long look around the lake district, before retiring to the Impala.

She wasn't there, either.

Dean shook off the first few waves of fear that stabbed at his brain. Jo was a big girl now. She could take care of herself. There must be a reason she wasn't here, but he didn't need to worry.

But no matter how many times he told himself this, he couldn't shake off the worry.

Jo's number didn't connect. No wonder, really: it _was_ blown up in the shop, and Dean wasn't sure if she had a new one. Still, the fact that he couldn't reach her sent a shiver down his spine; a cold feeling settled in his gut, like a giant stone weighted down. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"_Damn it_, Jo," Dean muttered fiercely under his breath. "Where are you?"

He shook his head, torn between the idea of searching for her, or staying put and waiting for her to return. The need for food didn't help.

His rumbling stomach finally won the argument. Fishing through the Impala, he found a crumpled cheeseburger receipt and a pen, and scribbled a note on the back, explaining where he was and if she found this, could she wait until he got back? finishing, he weighted it down with rocks to make sure it wasn't blown away by the wind. He left one of the blankets on the floor, too, so she'd know where to look.

Satisfied, Dean slid into the Impala, smiling a little as he smelled the familiar leather scent of his baby. He patted the steering wheel. "Let's go get me some food."

* * *

><p>Dean's gut took a steep dive when he pulled up next to the nest of blankets he had set out. He instantly saw that it had been completely untouched; the note was still there, a little grubby from dirt.<p>

Jo hadn't come back.

He fished around inside the glove pocket of the Impala, fumbling for one of his multiple mobile phones. Plucking one out, he speed-dialed Jo, whispering, _come on, answer, come on_ as he listened the ringing.

It rang. And rang. And rang. Eventually, voice mail picked up, and Dean just barely checked himself before he threw the phone out of the car in frustration.

Enough was enough, Dean decided. He was going to call Sam, and tell him what had happened. Dean could always think better when Sam's intelligent mind was helping him—no, not even that. just Sam's _presence_ there made Dean feel better. With his brother at his side, Dean felt like he could take on anything.

* * *

><p>Sam answered on the second ring. "Dean? Dean, are you okay?" Hearing Sam's voice made Dean's clenched gut loosen, just a little.<p>

"Hey, Sammy. Yeah, I'm…I'm fine. Look, this going to sound crazy, but—"

"Dean." Sam chuckled. "You think _anything_ sounds crazy to me anymore? After all that we've been through?"

"Point taken. But seriously, Sammy….look, Jo's back."

There was a long moment of silence on the other side of the line. "Jo?" Sam finally said. "As in, Jo Harvelle?"

"That's the one. I've been hanging out with her these past couple of days."

"Dean….are you wasted?"

"Do I sound like I'm wasted, Sam? I'm serious! And now she's just disappeared. I woke up, and she was gone, and I don't know what's going on—"

"She was probably just a hallucination, Dean. Seriously."

"We were in a diner together. She can eat food. And…well, we, uh touched."

"Oh, _man_." Sam's voice lightened. "You and Jo? Holy crap."

"Yup."

"It was in the Impala, wasn't it?"

"Uh…."

"Oh, _gross_! Dude, come _on_! I have to sit in that car with you. If I find any condoms…."

"Jesus, Sammy! You won't, seriously!" Dean said as he quickly checked over the back seat for anything.

"So….Jo's really alive?"

"She's got a pulse, too. Heartbeat. She can drink holy water, and silver doesn't hurt her. she's the real deal, man."

"Holy shit. just…wow."

"Don't tell Bobby, okay? I mean, Jo doesn't think Ellen's alive, and we don't want Bobby getting his hopes up. He's been through enough."

"Sure, man. Okay. So what do you need me to do?"

"Can you just research any resurrections, ghosts, spirits, etc? just to see if she is anything out of the ordinary."

"Sure. I'll ring you if I get any news, okay?"

"Thanks, Sammy."

"No problem, Dean."

Dean flipped the phone shut and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes and blowing out a breath. Talking to Sam had calmed him a little, and he was able to think rationally again. He decided he was going to wait here a while, and then check into a motel. He couldn't wait around forever.

**(A/N) I am so, SO sorry for not updating. I don't even have an excuse - I just completely forgot! This is just a filler chapter, really, to make sure you guys remember I _am _still updating, and I promise I'll update as soon as possible!**

**If I don't update by Sunday, then Merry Christmas to all of you! I hope you have a great day :)**


	10. Relief

Dean checked into a hotel that Sam had already booked for him. It was the closest one to where Jo had disappeared on him. While it wasn't the worst motel he'd ever stayed in (for one thing, at least his bed wasn't occupied by dead rodents again—always a bonus) it _certainly_ wasn't the best. He eyed the scum rimming the bath tub and sink suspiciously, steering clear of both for the time being. He didn't even want to know what the darker stuff smudged onto the wall was.

He settled down on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and tore into another cheeseburger, seeking comfort in a typical greasy burger laden with extra meat. The food made a hot path down his throat to his stomach, residing there with a warm glow. He tipped his head back against the wall and sighed, staring up at the mould-speckled ceiling.

Why did everything have to get so complicated? He hated to admit it, but he couldn't help but reminisce back to the times when Sam was fresh out of college, driving around with him and killing undead bastards who terrorised civilians. They were a team, just the two of them—the notorious brother duo that hunted things and saved lives. _The family business_, Dean used to joke.

If something that went bump in the night popped up, it used to be easy to kill. There was always a way to kill it, or at least banish it. Lately, that hadn't been the case. Although Dean was trying to ignore the increasing difficulties, it was creeping up on him now. The elephant in the room had swelled too large for him to turn away from it.

Drowsiness overtook him, and his eyelids began to flutter close. He sighed, shifting into a more comfortable position, and dozed off.

* * *

><p>Dean awoke with a jolt as what felt like a dart of ice grazed across his skin, goosebumps rippling across his arms as he sat upright so fast the world blurred into a mosaic of colour.<p>

"Hey, hey, calm! Dean, it's okay."

Dean's head snapped to the left, eyes falling on the occupant of the familiar voice. He shivered as he stared.

"Are you okay?" Jo asked, worry written across her face. "You seem really distressed."

"Yeah, I—I felt cold," Dean replied, rubbing his arm in an attempt to regain some body heat and smooth down his arm hair. "Like, ice cold—something ice cold whooshed over my arm. It was…really weird. I don't know."

Something flickered across Jo's face, but it was gone before he could decipher it. She tilted her head to the side, something that reminded him of Sam. It was strangely endearing. "Are you sure you weren't dreaming? That sounds a little odd."

Dean shook his head, blinking furiously to eradicate the sleep still hanging like a heavy veil over him. "No, no, I don't think it was a dream. It didn't _feel_ like a dream."

"What could it have been, then?" Jo quizzed.

"I—I don't know."

Jo smiled faintly. "I think you're just exhausted, Dean," she said. She laid a warm hand on his; Dean felt her heat melt into his skin all the way up his arm. "You were probably still half asleep. We all get it. It's normal."

"Yeah. I guess." He turned to her, fully awake now. "Where were you, Jo? I woke up and you were gone. I was so worried about you. What happened?"

Jo broke their gazes and looked down at her boots, sighing. "I needed to go for a walk. A lot has happened, and I just needed some time alone. I wanted to say goodbye to my mother, on my own."

"You went for a walk?" Dean echoed. "For _twelve hours_?"

"It was a long walk," she admitted. She twisted a hair band around her wrist. "I just needed to be alone. I should have written a note, I guess—"

"Would've been helpful," said Dean gruffly, but he wasn't angry. He understood how she felt. How many times had he sporadically jumped into the Impala and driven away his frustration, without so much as leaving Sam a note? Whenever he returned to find Sam waiting up every night, typing furiously on his laptop (his own outlet to his anger) he'd apologise. But they both knew it would happen again. It was just the way things were. Everyone had their outlets.

"I'm sorry," Jo said.

Dean waved her words away with a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it, Jo. I get it. Just leave a note, okay?"

"Okay." She met his eyes and smiled, pushing back the bangs that fell into her eyes. "Wanna grab a cheeseburger? I saw a great American diner about three miles away."

Dean huffed a laugh as he swung himself out of bed, rifling through his little carry bag and grabbing a fresh shirt. "Way ahead of you, sweetheart."

**(A/N) Wow. It's been almost 11 months since I've updated. All I have to say is I am so, so, so sorry for being such a crap writer and not maintaining this story. I promise, from now on, there will be more frequent updates. However, I am suffering writer's block right now - I know how I want this story to end, of course, but I'm having a little bit of trouble on writing some fillers. If there is any little scenes you'd like me to write - or even just an _object_ - then please, write a comment or PM me, and I'll write it. It's so lovely when the readers themselves help contribute to the story!**

**Thank you, and I'm sorry this isn't too great. I'll carry on soon!**


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